


But You Never Came

by wastedandalone



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Kind of angsty, Lyric fic, M/M, Nearly a Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, contemplating suicide, please be careful though, really sad actually, this fanfic could be triggering, uh...not sure what else to put?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:34:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastedandalone/pseuds/wastedandalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So I fall back into the dark again, 'cause everything will be okay, if I stay..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	But You Never Came

“I never wanted you to see the darkest part of me.”

Mackenzie unlocked their apartment door, quickly closing it and pressing his back up against the cool wood, taking a deep breath. He was on the verge of tears and he wasn’t exactly sure why, but he needed Dalton as much as he needed to see his own blood. But Dalton’s not here and Dalton’s not coming, his mind reminded him, as if he needed one. As if the shattered picture frame wasn’t enough. As if the ache deep in his chest didn’t serve as a memorial for the death of his sanity. 

“If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I wanna go.”

He admits, he still loves Dalton. He’s not the one-and-done type of guy. Maybe that explains why he’s walking toward the park bench where they kissed a little too passionately with the all too familiar sting coursing through his thighs with every step he takes. Maybe that explains why he’s carrying a can of Monster and a bottle of pills that he thinks is a combination of some really strong painkillers -- Vicodin, maybe? -- and muscle relaxers, but he doesn’t care. He bought them from a dealer on the street and it doesn’t bother him that he paid $120 for about 20 pills, doesn’t mind that once he downs all of them, he’ll have just enough time to drink the rest of his Monster and think about his midnight one last time before some preschooler finds him on the bench in the morning. He sits down, pops open the can, adjusts his jean jacket, and leans back, closing his eyes. 

“I’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday.”

He wants to go back. He doesn’t want to think about his blue eyes, or his tan skin, or the flower tattoos that he loves too much, or the way his hands fit with the blond’s. He wants to go back to before he knew the boy that destroyed him, the boy who caused him to relapse for the first time in three years. Instead, he focuses on the chill of the night, the sinking of the other side of the bench as the stranger speaks.

“Hey, what are you doing out here this time of night?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I was just getting ready to lock away myself in a permanent nap, so if you'd be so kind to leave, I'll get on with it and you can get on with your life.” 

“Son, I wish I could. But I know where you are. I don't know what's going on in your life. I don't need to. The fact that you think it hurts enough to end your life over is enough for me.”

He stood up, motioning Mackenzie along with him. 

“C’mon, I'll walk you home. You're not killing yourself tonight.” 

Mackenzie wasn't sure why he followed him, but the man seemed to know where he lived, which wouldn't be weird, except he's never seen the guy in his apartment complex before. He didn't question it, though, as they walked back. 

They chatted about the weather, and why Mackenzie was falling apart. How they each dealt with heartbreaks and the scars they left on themselves. How they thought it was crazy that someone actually did just kill themselves, how those people weren't so lucky to have someone save them. The man Mackenzie met never gave his name, probably thinking that Mac just wanted to forget tonight. And truthfully, he did. He learned that this wasn't something worth dying over, though he changed his mind once the man left him and he was alone again as he walked the stairs to his apartment. The man took his pills, though, so the only method that he was willing to try to deal with his pain was picking up his blade again. 

It was like déjà vu when he unlocked his apartment door. The same need for Dalton, same need to see blood, same need for pain. So he walked to the bathroom, closed the door as if someone might see him, took off the back of his phone case and pulled out the metal. He turned on the playlist he made specifically for nights like this, and the first song to come on was “Clock Don't Stop” by Carrie Underwood. Oh, how the song fit his mood.

“And we'll make it right tomorrow, but tomorrow's not a sure thing.”

He'd taken his jacket off, revealing all the scars of his past. But it can't be the past, if those same scars look the same as the cuts he made on himself yesterday. He's struggled for years. Dalton helped. But Dalton's not here. And fuck, why can't he stop thinking about that fucker? He wanted to move on, to get on with his life -- what was left of it, anyways -- but he knew it would take forever to be right again. Really, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be the same. Before he realized it, he’d slashed his wrist, and he didn’t even feel it. He liked seeing the red trickle out, and that’s when he realized he was fucked. He remembered what it felt like finding his then-boyfriend in the same position he’s in now. It hurt so bad, and he wished Dalton wouldn’t find him in the same position, but he finds out that he’s not that lucky as the bathroom door creaks open and before Mackenzie can look up to see his face, he continues to draw the razor across his wrist a couple more times until he hears a broken “Mackenzie” coming from beside him. That’s when he drops everything, looks at the blond-headed boy. He glances down from his lover’s blue eyes to the red mess of his wrist, and back to the blue eyes he can’t live without. And that’s when he knows that Dalton never wanted to leave him, that he still cares, but Mackenzie’s not exactly thinking straight, so he kind of sobs out, “What are you doing here?”

Dalton looks at him, mouth opening, closing, opening again and choking out, “I-I just came by t-to give you your key back...and get the bag I left…” 

And Mackenzie hated to see the black tears running down his face, and he remembers all the times he told Dalton to spend the extra 50 cents and get the waterproof eyeliner, but being stubborn, Dalton always said no, he doesn’t need it because he doesn’t cry. But look where they’re at now. Mackenzie didn’t want to move his arm, because fuck, he was feeling the pain now, but he had to, and that’s when Dalton opened up the medicine cabinet, pulling out the roll of gauze he kept for himself. He kneeled beside his brunette lover, gently taking his left hand, pulling it as slow as he could because Dalton’s been there one too many times to know how much it hurt. 

“If I wanted to go, I would’ve gone by now but I really need you near me to keep my mind off the edge.”

They were sitting on the bathroom floor, the cold hardwood being as comfortable as they needed at the time. Mackenzie was leaning against Dalton, just breathing. The blood-soaked gauze around his left wrist would be a bitch to get off here in about an hour. Dalton had his arms around his lover, gently holding his hands, desperately trying to not put pressure on the injured wrist. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that, I shouldn’t have left. I should have told you that I love you and haven’t stopped the whole month that we’ve been apart. If I wasn’t such a fucking idiot we wouldn’t be here. You deserve so much better, Mackenzie.”

“Dalton, I’ll admit, you fucked up. But I don’t want better. I want you. I forgive you. We’re okay.” 

Mackenzie turned his head and kissed the part of Dalton’s neck he could reach. 

Dalton replaced the gauze on Mackenzie’s wrist a little after that, and helped him get out of the bloody t-shirt he had on. He helped his boyfriend into bed, making sure he was comfortable before Dalton turned off the light. 

“I could sleep on the couch if you still hate me.” 

“I could never hate you.” 

And with that, Mackenzie curled up in the blond’s arms, ignoring the pain in his wrist, falling asleep to the rhythm of Dalton’s heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> so there it was... hope y'all are okay? love you guys -wastedandalone


End file.
